


Your Sheath, Your Chain

by Papillonae



Series: Even If You're Home Late For Christmas I'd Still Like You [3]
Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: First Christmas, Inspired by The Gift of the Magi - O. Henry, M/M, Mutual Pining, Polish-Lithuanian Commonwealth
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-05
Updated: 2019-01-05
Packaged: 2019-10-04 13:40:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,216
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17305601
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Papillonae/pseuds/Papillonae
Summary: December, 1569. Poland and Lithuania spend their first Christmas as a Commonwealth together during a most financially trying time. An affectionate re-telling of O. Henry's "Gift of the Magi."





	Your Sheath, Your Chain

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Gift of the Magi](https://archiveofourown.org/external_works/446606) by O. Henry. 



> This fic was written as part of the LietPol Secret Santa Event for tumblr user @aph-poland using the prompts provided in the fic tags. I hope you enjoy! :)
> 
> \- R

_What can I give Him,_

_Poor as I am? –_

_If I were a Shepherd_

_I would bring a lamb;_

_If I were a Wise Man_

_I would do my part, –_

_Yet what I can I give him, –_

_Give my heart._

 

Christina Rosetti (1872)

 

Only two markas and seventy-two fenigs to his name. Poland had counted them in his hand over and over, paced the floor of his small farmhouse until the numbers felt like gibberish in his mouth.

In spite of the success of the Golden Unity in the summer – the celebrations and feasts which lasted weeks on end – it hadn’t been the best harvest season. An early frost had decimated most of their crops, yet a decent earning had been made from the untouched grain. Winter had come early, and it was astonishing just how much the prices for kindling and firewood had risen. Though there hadn’t had much need for large dinners at Advent season, even the most basic ingredients for a loaf of bread had gotten much more expensive. It was the same for everything else.

It was a far cry from living in separate rooms within the palace gates, but the two of them – Poland, and his partner Lithuania – had decided on this quiet life of agriculture. They had wanted to work hard and know honesty, for they were of their people.

Poland counted again. Still only two markas and seventy-two fenigs. The sight made his stomach turn in worry, and he laughed to himself. Usually Lithuania was the one who worried the most about finances. This year was different! It was the first Christmas they would spend together here, and what a way to spend it, indeed!

It had occurred to Poland in the past century just how he had become accustomed to Lithuania always at his side. It had not been the easiest transition for Lithuania or his people, and yet he had always met those challenges with an open mind. He had been strong in adversity, and in his leadership, he had been stern and fair. It had earned Poland’s respect, and eventually his trust.

But only now, in the meager glow of the fireplace, did Poland come to grips with how he had changed in turn. He had gained confidence and a newfound perspective. He found himself lying around on haybeds less, and the proof of his labors showed in the hay-scratched callouses of his fingers. He’d become less selfish – and it would only be now, on _Christmas Eve_ of all nights, that he had come to realize why.

It was Lithuania – and Poland’s feelings for him had grown into something other than an inkling that he would be an important person in his long life. In fact, Lithuania had become _the most_ important person. A warmth had come to settle in Poland’s chest and spread to his cheeks, a warmth which gave way to a profound ache. It was possible that he was the only one who felt this way, that he was not the most important person to Lithuania. He had contemplated staying silent, had contemplated letting their friendship stay as it were in order to avoid rejection.

Even so, tomorrow would be their first Christmas together as a Commonwealth. Even with only two markas and seventy-two fenigs, Poland had wanted to give Lithuania a gift to show just how far he had come as a nation, and as a person, thanks to him.

Lithuania had once told Poland of his greatest possession. It had been an ancient blade forged for one of his first rulers, and had since been passed down through the ages to other great rulers and men. Lithuania had told him the story in quietly greening fields in the springtime; he could recall each hand the blade had touched. The names that passed his lips each brought a proud smile. He explained that it had been a reminder of who he was and where he had come from. Poland had listened closely, had felt himself resonate with that statement, and he hoped he could once day hold that smile for himself.

The sword itself was beautiful. Even after years of disuse, it had not rusted or dulled. As a fellow admirer of weaponry, Poland could not deny how special it was…

He pocketed the money and sat at the table, eyes rimmed red both from a lack of sleep and blotting out stubborn tears in the heels of his palms. What was he to do with such a small amount of money?

His hand then flew to the golden cross which hung around his neck on a sturdy thread. He traced over the precious metal, fingertips brushing the intricate detail. It had been given to him long ago by someone who had once cared very much about his well-being – a caretaker who attended him before he began his duties as a nation. Since it came into his possession it had served as a source of comfort, a talisman that filled him with courage and faith when he needed it most.

How he needed that courage and faith now…!

Poland stood from the table, wiped once more at his eyes, and steeled his resolve. He grabbed his cloak and walked quickly down the road until he came across the village. The vapor of his breath trailed behind him as he stepped timidly into the local smithy.

Kowalski was an older gentleman, having plied his trade alongside his father and his father before him. His skin was red from the heat of the forge’s flame and he glowed with a fresh sheen of sweat. Even in his old age, he seemed impossibly strong and large.

Poland took the necklace off of his neck and held it out to him. His arm trembled. “How much is this worth?” he asked.

The goldsmith carefully plucked the cross from his hand and examined it with an appraising eye: the gold filigree, the artfully set rubies all seemed to glint in the light of the forge.

Finally, he looked up to Poland with a smile. “I can offer you thirty markas for this piece.”

Poland was about to accept, when he noticed something that caught his eye. “… Would I be able to trade it for that? I can also give two markas for the trouble.”

He gestured up toward a gorgeously embellished scabbard. Gold and bronze decorated the throat, chape, and finial in intricate coils of patterns. The wood had been of the highest quality. It looked as if it had been made specially for Lithuania, and there were no others quite like it hanging there upon the wall. It was perfect.

Kowalski thought long and hard on it, until he finally relented. He took the cross and the two markas from Poland, and gave him the scabbard in return. Having thanked him repeatedly, Poland took back off into the snow with the scabbard clutched in his arms, and seventy-two fenigs to spare.

Now Lithuania had a suitable scabbard for his sword and he no longer had to wrap it in heavy cloth to protect it from the elements. He could also hold it at his side should he ever need to. _I wish to be your sheath, to protect you and to uphold your strength._ That was the form Poland chose for his feelings.

Their dinner simmered in the cauldron over the fireplace.

After a time, Poland began to fidget in his seat. Lithuania was never this late coming home…

He had begun to wonder if this had been a good idea after all. He had been quite content with being Lithuania’s friend, but now that they were a Commonwealth, many changes were expected of them. Their partnership had been hard wrought from the beginning, and now that Poland had become comfortable, there was this new feeling within him that threatened to change everything all over again.

He reached for his cross, but his hand came up empty.

Then he heard Lithuania’s footsteps crunching outside the door. Poland clasped his hands, elbows on the table. He had prayed many times in his life, many small prayers for everyday things. But now, Poland prayed fervently, “God, give me the strength to see this through. Please… let Lithuania still be my friend.”

The door opened and Lithuania tapped the snow from his boots before entering in. He wore a cloak similar to the one Poland had, though his had been tattered from many years of use. His hands were raw from the icy wind, and he cupped them over his mouth to breath warm air over them. Poland could see how tired he looked – for the past few days, he had seemed restless about something.

Lithuania’s expression changed as Poland rose from the table to greet him. He seemed worried.

“What’s wrong?” he asked, craning his head closer to examine him, “your eyes look red… are you ill?”

Poland rubbed at his eyes. “I’m not ill.”

“But you don’t look well.” Lithuania guided him back to the table and eased him into his chair.

“Don’t fuss over me,” Poland insisted, “I’m fine. In fact, I have a present for you.” He watched Lithuania’s face light up, and a small flame seemed to bloom in his chest at the sight.

Lithuania withdrew a small parcel from his cloak and placed it before Poland. “I have one for you too. I insist you open it first.”

Curious, Poland pulled at the twine that held the gift together. What spilled into the palm of his hand was something that shimmered and coiled in the glow of the fireplace.

A sturdy golden necklace chain.

“It’s for your cross,” Lithuania explained quietly, “I had noticed you keeping it on a thread… and thought you may like a new chain for it.”

Poland felt tears prickling at the corners of his eyes. It was a gorgeous chain, one that had been perfectly selected for him. And yet…

“Liet… it’s beautiful,” he said, clutching the glittering gift to his heart. It was all he could manage to say before the rest of the words were caught in his throat.

“Then why do you look like you’re going to cry?”

Poland got up and carefully retrieved his gift for Lithuania. “… I had sold my cross so that I could get you this. It’s a scabbard for your sword…”

This time, the look on Lithuania’s face was unreadable. He studied the scabbard, as if he were trying to process the connection between the gift and what Poland had just told him. He looked from his hands to Poland, and back again.

Poland blurted out, “I can always find another cross or pendant to wear with this! But I had wanted to give you something special, since this is our first Christmas as a Commonwealth… and we’ve been doing so well, in spite of this harvest… and I thought… this would be my way of telling you how much I—”

Before he could finish his thought, Lithuania had gathered him up in a hug. It wasn’t until he felt those arms fold around his waist that Poland returned his embrace.

“Thank you, Poland. This is a wonderful present.” His voice was low, and his breath brushed the top of Poland’s ear. It promptly warmed the rest of him as Lithuania pulled him close.

Unable to bear it any longer, Poland bashfully pulled away. “Well!” he said, changing the subject with a forced laugh, “why don’t we see if it’ll fit your sword? I think it will, but maybe it needs—”

“I sold it.”

“…I’m sorry?”

Lithuania sat down at the table and smiled up at him. “I sold it,” he repeated, “so that I could afford the chain.”

“But Liet, that sword meant a lot to you—”

Lithuania laughed softly. “It’s alright. I know who I am and where I come from. I don’t need an old sword to remember that.”

Poland felt his heart sink with guilt. “I see…”

“What’s important to me,” Lithuania continued, “is where I am now and what I do from here onward. And there is no one else I’d rather be moving forward with than you.”

A pause. Poland started a little. “…You really mean that?”

“Of course. We’re partners, after all.”

Upon that statement, Poland met his eyes. He saw how the glow of the firelight made them sparkle like embers, that earnest, sincere smile of his only drew Poland closer. There was something older in those eyes, something wiser than even the Magi themselves could behold.

Poland couldn’t help but fall all over again.

Then he pulled him up from his seat and spun him around in his arms, smiling wide and laughing. “Well, we’ll have to work hard so that next year’s harvest is the best!” And in his heart, he had truly meant it.

A sheath to protect and uphold one’s sword of strength.

A golden chain to support and uphold one’s cross of faith.

Poland hadn’t told Lithuania of his true feelings that Christmas Eve, but his message had been received regardless. There would be other times for such sentiments. There would always be times for words of gratitude. But in everything Poland and Lithuania would do from this night onward – they would always be actions of love.


End file.
